Rest & Relaxation
by El Pistolero
Summary: MortMort slash. Mort’s other selves are driving him up a wall one crazy day and he decides he needs some good ol’ R’nR. Mort Number2 decides to help. [complete]


**Title**: Rest & Relaxation  
**Author**: Lucifer  
**Rating**: R  
**Summary**: Mort/Mort. Meant to be drabble; turned out ficlet. (not by my will I tell you) Mort's other selves are driving him up a wall one crazy day and he decides he needs some good ol' R'nR. Mort Number2 decides to help.  
**Note**: This fic goes along with a pic (you'll have to take out the spaces because as usual this site is being an asshole) http/ img. photobucket. com/albums/v717/appleheadstudios/LJ/MortxMort. jpg

* * *

Mort hadn't been able to stand it anymore. Three hours sitting in front of his laptop listening to the other two voices in his head squabble back and forth over character interaction and plot development had not been very productive. He suspected he might've been able to handle it if the voices actually stayed in his head. The other Mort and Shooter had not been so kind however. Instead they'd taken their argument right out of his mind and to the space behind him, both pacing back and forth, circling each other, throwing glares and gestures every which way. At least, that's what Mort suspected they'd been doing. By then he'd had his head in his hands and face smashed down on the keyboard. Had he glanced up, he'd have noticed half the page was covered in Zs. After about five more minutes of "Ricky _needs _to have some romantic connection with Mary! What would a story be without at least a bit a' classic romance?"

"Classic? You mean cliché, don't you? It'll tear the whole plot apart, not to mention ruin Ricky's character."

"There's got ta' be feelin' in this chapter!"

"Listen you cheap plot knock-off hick, Ricky has more than enough feeling without--"

"Will you two shut up!", well his nerves were getting a bit frayed.

Mort, of the keyboard-smooshed face, ground his teeth. It was then that Shooter let him in on the current state of his computer screen. He glanced up and an army of Zs stared him in the face.

He could take a hint when he saw one.

"I'll tell you what, why don't you two finish up this chapter while I pass out on the little ol' comfy couch and when I get up, you can tell me how it went." He rose, swiveling between the two mirror images of himself, not sure if he could actually push them apart or not, and made a bee-line for sanctuary. He threw himself down with a grunt, landing roughly and not caring. He shut his eyes and buried himself between the cushions, giving his two intruders as much of a cold shoulder as he possibly could.

Thankfully they let him be.

Just as he felt himself drifting off he wished desperately for a little relaxation the rest of the day, or at least until he woke up again. There was no telling what they could do in his dreams. He wondered if he would ever wind up with a civil war in his head. Who knew, it might not be such a bad thing. Maybe their population would drop a little afterwards. He just hoped he never wound up with more. The two he had were quite enough. Soon his thoughts trailed off until he was fast asleep. Shooter and Mort the Second simply watched in dismay, argument forgotten. Not much point in it if the one of them who'd be typing was now unconscious. Mort broke his attention from the sleeping form on the couch, looking across to meet the hat-shadowed eyes of his other look-alike companion.

"Well you heard him. We need some relaxation." He smirked. Shooter gave him a patented Death Glare in return.

"You're all on your own with this one, pilgrim," he sneered and headed for the kitchen. Mort shrugged, smile unwavering.

* * *

Mort the Original was slumbering peacefully when he felt more than heard a voice in his ear.

"You know, you should really leave Mary out of Ricky's love life," it said slowly. Mort's brain sluggishly tried to process this information, but the voice continued. "He'll be just fine by himself." Pause. "Just like you."

Mort felt the weight on his couch change, sinking down and forcing him to wiggle a little to get back into place. He knew he was still half asleep, one of those strange times where people were not quite conscious and still felt what was going on around them. The weight moved over the couch and he felt its warmth just before it settled down on his lower stomach. It shifted again and spread over his chest until he found the voice had returned to his ear, this time the opposite, though it didn't say anything beyond a small rumble of throaty sound. He could feel its warm breath rush over his skin. Something soft and feathery tickled his face. He decided this would be a good time to open his eyes and when he did, all he could see was so much ruffled wheat-colored hair. Mort blinked, trying to shake the sleepiness off as the face of his reflection came into view.

"What are you doing?" he asked, a little bewildered. It was strange, looking up at himself when at the same time he didn't feel like he was seeing himself at all. This other Mort, right now, seemed a completely different person, even with the same face. Yet, he wasn't really.

"What does it feel like I'm doing?" accompanied by a grin was his only reply. Well when he stopped to think about it, Mort certainly knew what it _felt _like. His reflection's breath was in his ear again and then his mouth on Mort's neck, and there was something pressing into his stomach as the other Mort's weight moved further down on him, and, to his horror, the more he thought about it, all this seemed to be turning him on.

"Hey now…." he tried to start a sentence but found the words came out so halted and without any semblance of strength that he stopped before he made a complete fool out of himself, in front of…himself. The irony of this was not lost on him. Hell, the man could probably read his mind which led to the question: if so, what the fuck was he doing? Mort had to stifle a gasp when his reflection ground his weight down over a particularly sensitive area. His hands wound up and under Mort's worn robe and t-shirt, pressing down on warm skin underneath.

"Weren't you just thinking we needed a good dose of rest and relaxation not a few moments ago?" the man on top of him asked upon observing Mort's wide-eyed state of shock.

"We?" Mort asked, still frozen in place. "Are you sure I didn't mean _I_?"

His reflection's sensual grin turned into one of pure amusement. "Now, that's the tricky part, isn't it?"

He had a point, so Mort chose to ignore it.

"When I said relaxation, I didn't mean--"

"Oh come now Morty boy, don't you know I can make you enjoy yourself, so to speak, a thousand times better than you could all on your own?"

Mort's hands found their way to the others under his shirt and abruptly stopped their wandering. He tried to sit up, only to be pushed back down by the man above him; inadvertently the movement caused friction in all the wrong places for what he was trying to accomplish. The other Mort's eyes darkened, not in anger, but an emotion Mort recognized all very well. This man liked Mort's resistance. He liked watching it dissolve under the power of that gaze, and the longer Mort stared at his reflection, the more Mort realized that is exactly what was happening. It was strange to think that even though this man was himself, he doubted he could ever hold someone with a stare like that. Mort shifted slightly, not being able to endure it any longer, and that's when his reflection knew he'd gotten him.

Mort had surrendered.

He submitted when kissed.

Hot, greedy lips found his and that was all it took to stop reason from functioning, and awaken other parts of himself in its place, parts that he'd not dealt with for some time. Mort found himself kissing back just as hungrily, squashing his uneasy thoughts. It felt…..really good. Really, really good. His hands wandered up a familiar neck, winding into soft hair so much like his own. His eyes fluttered open and closed catching glimpses of eyelashes, cheekbones, skin that tasted too good to take his mouth away from. It wasn't the same as looking into a mirror, not that he usually made out with mirrors. In fact, he felt less and less weirded out by the whole thing with every passing moment.

Now that his other self's hands had been freed they were put to good use. One of them managed to slither its way in between them where their hips moved together, finding Mort's arousal and rubbing against it through his pants. A soft, high sound escaped Mort's lips and he had to pull back from the kiss to let it out. He grasped the belt loops in the back of his reflection's jeans and pulled his hips down roughly, smashing the hand between them and creating such a pleasurable sensation that both Morts made muffled whimpers.

That did it.

If Mort had any lingering apprehensions left, they were tossed out the window. He struggled to sit up, quite a feat as the two of them were, mashed into the couch amid a tangle of arms and legs and clothes. His reflection seemed to get the idea however, and pulled Mort up, unfortunately having to remove his hand in the process, flipping their positions so that now his neck was up against the arm of the couch and Mort was straddling his hips. Mort leaned down to kiss the man beneath him who helped by twining his fingers into Mort's frazzled hair and yanking his head down.

While he had Mort locked that way, luring him further and further down with his mouth as bait, his hands went to work on Mort's pants, undoing them hastily and pulling them down his hips, leaving only his well-loved heart printed boxers, ones he'd had for a long time, before Amy even. He had to force Mort upward a little to get them completely off. Fortunately breaking their lips apart was not needed.

Mort was now making a constant almost muted sound, low and from the back of his throat that he obviously had no idea he was making. He'd been desperately trying to get at his reflection's skin, working around knots in his identical robe, finally freeing them and at last being able to run his hands under the man's shirt. His hands felt their way over skin he already knew, from an angle he'd never felt before. He vaguely felt his reflection pulling his robe off his shoulders and tossing it aside, then tracing his fingers up Mort's hips, hooking them over the elastic part of his boxers. Mort couldn't wait any longer. He lifted his hips off the other's and let his own fingers find their way into the man's jeans, wrapping one hand around his arousal and the other fumbling with getting the zipper down.

Their lips broke, but Mort refused to let the taste of his reflection's skin go, so he placed sloppy, wet kisses all the way down his neck, to his collarbone and back up again. His reflection pulled Mort's boxers down, finally allowing skin to meet skin when their hips met. Mort whimpered. Such a lovely sound. One that no one else had ever heard, not like that.

Mort suddenly seemed to have a momentary return of intelligent thought, realizing that he probably didn't have anything that could be used as lube. His eyes flickered around the room.

"Don't worry," his reflection said. Must have been reading his mind again. "We won't need it."

The two of them were already glistening with sweat, and though Mort briefly wondered over the man's judgment, but in this state he was in too much of a hurry to care. Besides, the other Mort seemed about ready to prove his point. He lifted Mort's hips up, bringing him over his cock and gently easing him down. It was slow, and Mort had to grab the arm of the couch for support. It felt uncomfortable, he'd never done this before, but he suspected that if it had been anyone else inside of him, it would hurt a lot worse. Whether that was because this was more than likely all in his head, or because he was just too aroused to care, didn't seem to matter at the moment. Once all the way inside, both men paused for a moment, Mort to grow accustomed to the new sensation and his reflection to let him. Surprisingly it was Mort who made the first move, bringing his hips up and easing back down with the hands on his waist helping him. He shuddered a little, not out of pain, as their pace continued slowly picking up to a steady rhythm. Their lips found each other again, tongues rolling together, eyes flashing open to stare into the other's. Identical, yet opposite.

Their pace was slow in the beginning, slow but deliberate. It didn't last long however. Simple deliberateness grew into harder and harder thrusts. They grew faster, quicker, and Mort didn't have to think about a single thing but the feel of his reflection inside of him.

They hit climax nearly at the same time. Mort let himself flop down over his other self afterwards, something he'd not done with Amy without a second thought. His reflection's head was tossed back, resting over the couch's arm which gave Mort a nice little space at the crook of his neck to rest his own head, a world of yellow hair and sweat and sex filling his senses. He was breathing heavily, lying over the other man's chest told him he was having the same difficulty Mort was at catching his breath. Mort decided to put it to good use however, and blew some of the hair, who's it was he wasn't sure of, out of his face. He really wanted to settle down like that, just like they were. He could feel sleep drift into his mind already.

This was it, all he needed. Good nap, good fuck, more nap. Repeat when necessary. He smiled to himself and felt a hand run lazily through his hair, massaging the sensitive part of his neck, right under his ear. Just before sleep enveloped him completely, a stray thought drifted into his mind.

"Say, aren't you supposed to be my conscience?"

He felt the warm body underneath him laugh softly.

"Mort, silly, you don't have a conscience."

* * *


End file.
